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I glance at Bane. Anxiousness is visible in the crease of his brow, his mouth curved into a frown. His hand is clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white.
And I know he's come to the same conclusion I have.
My eyes flicker between him and the van. “Should I call the Prez?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, not yet. We don't know anything. Could be a coincidence.”
A dry laugh slips free and I run my fingers through my hair. “C'mon, man, you're the most superstitious motherfucker I know. You can't tell me it's a coincidence.”
“I'm not superstitious,” he grumbles.
“Okay, sure,” I say slowly, bobbing my head a couple of times. “But you do believe in signs, right? Like when you see crows circling overhead or when you hear a howling dog.”
Bane snorts. “That's not superstition, that's just common sense. Crows circling overhead usually mean something's dead nearby, and a howling dog can signal danger. It's just being aware of your surroundings.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because that's not superstitious at all.”
I don't bring up the fact that years ago, he went into the fortune teller's tent at the annual summer festival downtown a surly fuck who was hell-bent on destroying his life. And twenty-four hours later, he was a changed man.
Like he was the old Bane.
No, like he was Lincoln.
I don't know what the fuck she said to him, and he never told me no matter how many times I asked, but something happened in that little purple tent.
So, yeah, I kind of think he's full of shit.
He shoots me a withering look before turning his attention back to the van. We follow them through the little town until they pull up to a seedy-looking bar on the outskirts.
Three Crowns Tavern.
“What the hell are they doing here?”
Three Crowns Tavern isn't affiliated with anyone, last we checked. Sure, we're not in the game anymore, but that doesn't mean we don't stay afloat with information.
And this particular bar has always been a neutral of sorts, despite being in overlapping territory. Savage Souls and Hell Hounds always left it alone.
My brows draw together as Bane pulls off to the side of the road and kills the headlights. “Whatever it is, I doubt it's good. No one brings that many men in a van for a casual night at a bar,” he says.
We don't have to wait long.
The van idles in front of the bar, parallel to the side with three tall, tinted windows. Bane and I watch in silence as the side door opens, and three men step out, each one wearing black leather kuttes.
I lean toward the dash, craning my neck to get a better look. But I can only see a corner of the back. “Is that a tail?”
“Fucking Hell Hounds,” he growls.
I swear under my breath when one of the guys steps around his buddy, giving me a full view of his kutte. And it's not the same as the other guy.
“Motherfuckers,” I snap, my voice low. “Hell Hounds are in bed with Savage Souls now.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Could be a friendly meeting.”
I glance his way, narrowing my eyes. “You don't really believe that, do you?”
“Weirder shit has happen—”
He never finishes his sentence. All three men pull out semi-automatic guns and open fire on Three Crowns Tavern.
